


What Daddy Wants

by theadamantdaughter



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Daddy Kink, F/M, Jonsa Smut Week, Modern AU, jon gets head finally, jonsa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-01
Updated: 2017-12-01
Packaged: 2019-02-08 23:28:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12875331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theadamantdaughter/pseuds/theadamantdaughter
Summary: For Jonsa Smut Week - Day Four: FantasiesSansa calls Jon 'daddy.' He likes it a lot.





	What Daddy Wants

**Author's Note:**

> if you don't click the link included in this, you're really missing out (but make sure you open it in a new tab).

His office is nearly silent. The fish tank gurgles now and then. The distant hum of a refrigerator comes from the kitchen. The clock ticks, almost obnoxiously, marking down the minutes.

Jon glances up. _Half past eleven._

It's not his usual prerogative to stay this late. Most evenings, he'll see his staff out the door, brew a cup of coffee and answer emails for an hour or so; the rush for a Christmas editorial has him swamped and strapped to his desk.

He sighs, resigned to a sleep cycle or two on the office futon, and opens Outlook.

There's a new message: "Have you seen this..."

Jon clicks on it. An [Elf Yourself](https://elfyourself.com?mId=71361432) video absorbs his screen, blaring Jingle Bells through his speakers at full volume, and five different versions of himself in striped stockings parade to the beat.

 _"Shit!"_ He jumps and scrambles to shut off the sound.

"Oh, come on!" Sansa leans in his doorway. Her face pinches with disappointment. "It was meant to cheer you up."

"Miss Stark." Jon finds the mute button, frowning irritably. "It might've been funnier if you'd included yourself in it."

"Oh? Why's that?"

Her brows pull up and together, giving her a look of innocence. It's a talent she has, appearing at the end of a joke or a raucous laugh, and managing to smile like she's never the cause of any mayhem.

And, it's a problem, because the flush that always colors her cheeks, the pout of her lips that keeps her from being scolded, makes Jon's cock ache.

He shifts in his chair. "Because, now I have to assume my staff is making me into a punchline... and one of you will be in trouble."

Jon scowls over his screen at her, but finds her smiling.

"I have ways to get out of it," she quips.

"Do you?"

He swallows, trying to ignore the tell-tale rush of blood to his groin, trying to keep his voice level. Sansa doesn't help him. She moves from the doorway, sashaying towards him with a seductive sway to her hips.

When she reaches the edge of his desk, Jon can't pretend he's not breathing heavy.

Her skirt clings to every sensuous curve of her body. Her blouse allows a teasing glimpse of her breasts. He wants to pluck at the buttons. He wants to rip her bra with his teeth. He wants to fist his hands in her vibrant, red hair while she—

"Mr. Snow," Sansa startles him.

Jon coughs loudly, too loudly.

"What is it?" 

His face must be a blaring red when he looks up at her, and he's grateful that his computer screen is all that lights the room. Sansa's blue eyes practically glow in it.

"I was just saying, I have ways to get out of trouble."

She smiles sweetly, but the way she moves is anything but. Her fingertips tap along the edge of his desk; Jon pushes away from it, making just enough room for her, hoping, _praying_ that what he thinks is happening is actually—

Sansa doesn't stop until she's standing between his legs.

"Mind undoing your belt for me?"

He rushes to do it, blindly, because the same second Jon moves, Sansa kisses him. Rough. Possessive. Her fingers scrape his scalp and tug his hair. Her lips drag down to his neck, hovering over his pulse.

Her teeth nip his ear; she laughs, "And your jeans, too? Please, Daddy?"

Jon obeys without a second thought, fumbling with the button and the zipper and lifting his hips enough to get the denim down around his thighs.

"Perfect," Sansa hums against his skin.

Her tongue teases the hollow of his throat, the sliver of his collarbones that his shirt allows to show. Her hands feel him up, memorizing the planes of his chest, the grooves in his stomach.

For a split second, Jon wishes his shirt were on the floor— let her touch him with nothing on, see if she doesn't drop her panties and fuck him on the desk—but Sansa licks her palm, and he can't think.

"What a big cock," she coos, settling on her knees between his thighs. Her hand wraps around him, a little, doe-eyed moan slipping through her lips. "I don't know if it'll fit."

The back of his knuckles brush up her cheek, then Jon slips his fingers behind her neck and smirks.

"Be a good girl and find out."

Sansa wets her lips, putting on a show like he's going to be delicious. "What Daddy wants, Daddy gets."

When her tongue flicks over the head of his cock, it's all Jon can do not to thrust until he hits her throat. He makes himself stay still, pulling her hair to keep her rhythm slow. He wants to savor it, honestly; he wants her to take her time, torment him, drink him up.

As if she can read his mind, Sansa licks him from base to tip, mewling like a mynx all the way. Her tongue reaches every throbbing inch, following veins, drawing shapes— Jon wonders if she's spelling her name down his length.

"Sans," the thought puts him on edge.

She moans, sucking hard on the head. Then, Sansa pulls back, blows cool air over him, makes him writhe in the chair while she strokes him with one hand and cups his sac with the other. Her gaze admires him.

Jon bucks when she licks him again, suddenly desperate for friction. Sansa takes it as encouragement. Her lips close around him, her tongue makes circles; she practically swallows him.

He feels the back of her throat and growls. It's low and deep, animalistic, but she's killing him. Jon grabs her hair in two fists, setting a pace that she can barely match.

But she does. Like fucking hell, she does.

She whines and whimpers around his cock, her tongue vibrating with the noises. She bobs up and down, her lips taking nearly every inch of him, her hand working what she can't reach. She watches him with those bright, blue eyes, looks at him like all she wants is the taste of his cum.

"Fuck... _fuck!"_ Jon gives up on holding it together.

He groans her name and fucks her pretty, little mouth until he can't breathe. The pleasure is burning him up. His stomach is taut; his hips are tense. Jon holds her still, rocking up and just _drowning_ in the soft, hot feel of her tongue.

"Sansa."

That's her only warning. Jon comes in her mouth with a sharp hiss, his teeth grit and his skin flushed pink.

Sansa swallows every drop, closing her eyes with a quiet hum. When he lets her hair go, she licks him clean and smacks her lips.

"Such a yummy cock, Daddy."

"God..." Jon fixes his jeans and pulls her into his lap, kissing her firmly. After they break apart, he asks, "Where on earth did that come from?"

Sansa squirms playfully, "Well, the video didn't work..."

"Really? You just wanted me to smile?"

"You have such a lovely smile, Jon," She tucks a lock of hair behind his ear, then leans her forehead on his. "Besides, between work, wedding planning, Arya and Gendry arriving next week... you've been far too stressed, my love."

Jon bumps his nose against her, coaxing Sansa into another long kiss. "You always know just what to do. I appreciate you staying late."

"I know." Sansa looks proud.

"You know what else I might need..."

He raises a brow, and Sansa reads his mind. She slips from his lap, peering over her shoulder as she unzips her skirt.

When it hits the office floor, her panties in the pile too, Sansa bends over his desk. 

"Fuck me, Daddy."

 

 

 


End file.
